


Pretending

by What_point



Series: Point's pile of JATP fics [6]
Category: Julie and The Phantoms (TV)
Genre: And we would have gotten a happy ever after, Angst, Angst and Feels, Character Development, Denial of Feelings, F/M, Feelings, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I Don't Even Know, I was making Breakfast while writing this, If these idiots actually acted on their feelings, Inner Dialogue, Love, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Possibly Unrequited Love, Self-Doubt, This all wouldn't have happened, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:27:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27356482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/What_point/pseuds/What_point
Summary: And even though it hurts, every little touch a beating, every little kiss a hit to the heart, every little glance directed his way a punch, this was better than nothing. Losing this will be like losing part of himself.
Relationships: Julie Molina & Reggie, Julie Molina/Luke Patterson, Luke Patterson & Reggie (Julie and The Phantoms), Luke Patterson/Reggie (Julie and The Phantoms)
Series: Point's pile of JATP fics [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1995184
Comments: 26
Kudos: 114





	Pretending

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first try at angst, (didn't even know it was angst till I finished writing and looked back at what I just wrote.)  
> Normally I would say, 'I hope you enjoy it,' but I don't know if that's appropriate.

_" I won't be able to pretend anymore after today,"_ he whispers, the shadows consume his words, till none are left, _"not now I know the taste of your lips, the feeling of your breath on my skin, your hands on my hips, your mouth on my collarbone. I won't be able to pretend."_

But he knows he will. Tomorrow they will be back to pretending that they don't lay down too close for friends when he stays over. That they don't hold each other with hungry eyes in the darkness of the night. That they won't glance at each other during practice, both hurt but both not doing anything to change. That they will be back here when the screaming gets too loud and he can't take it anymore.

But tonight, he will pretend they won't. Tonight he will pretend he will wake up tomorrow, still being held, sharing morning kisses in the light of day. Holding hands under the dinner table during breakfast. Laughing as they change for school. That his hands will find him, and touch him softly on his shoulder, on his arm, on his waist. That he will look at him the way he only does when the moon is their light and the stars their company.

Pretend to live that life, instead of the nothingness he knows that awaits him. How he will open his eyes, alone in a bed that suddenly feels too big, the place next to him almost completely cold. How he will silently slip out of the clothes he was given and just as silently put on his own. How he would walk down, stairs creaking softy, and sit down at the table on the other side. How his eyes would be fixed on the toast, and when he looked up, _his_ eyes would advered, looking everywhere but him. How _he_ would then excuse himself before even finishing his food and running back to his room, leaving him to stare down his plate.

By the time they would leave for school, he would be able to look at him again. Then at the entrance he would push his shoulder against his, a careful touch. Halfway through the first class he would smile at him, and he would grin back, both as cautious. When lunchtime would come around he would throw his arm around him, leaning into him to show the things he wrote for a new song. After school they would talk as freely as their hands did the night before, only not about that.

He wouldn't keep on coming back, deep in the night when everyone should already be asleep, was it not for the way the blanket was always tucked in when he woke up. The way his clothes would be placed, neatly folded on the desk chair. The way a glass of juice was already poured for him when he finally made it down. The way his hands would rest on the table, slowly reaching for him, but being pulled back before they could. The way he would glance over his shoulder when he made a run for it, his eyes showing exactly how he felt.

So he says, _"I won't be able to pretend anymore after today."_ But he only tells himself. His mouth stays closed, because if he says it now, everything could stop. And even though it hurts, every little touch a beating, every little kiss a hit to the heart, every little glance directed his way a punch, this was better than nothing. Losing this will be like losing part of himself.

So he doesn't speak up, not under the warmth of his hands, in the darkness of the night, his scent all around him. Not in the early morning, over toast and juice. Not in the hours that follow, listening to subjects he doesn't care about, him next to him writing frantically. Not after school, in the closure of their studio while they wait for the others to get there. Not during practice, when the music takes him over, _his_ voice the only thing he can hear. Not in the walk up to his room, when he sleeps over for the third time that week. No, not even then.

So when they die and end up in the future, or the now, or whenever they are and he sees him fall for someone else, he pretends. Pretends it doesn't hurt to smile at them getting closer every passing second. Pretends it doesn't hurt to feel him fade from his side. Pretends that it is all well, all good. Sometimes he pretends so hard he believes it himself, only for reality to catch up. And he gets it, she has the voice of an angel, and a smile so bright it could dim the sun. He gets it, she has music flowing through her veins, just like him, and she moves on the melody of life in a way he never could. They fit so perfectly it hurts.

And then when she brings it up, he doesn't question how she knows. She asks him what they were. He stares at his hands, thinking of _his_ fingers roaming his shoulder blades. He bites his lip, still feeling the shadow of his.

"We pretended." He tells her, as if it was all there ever was, and she nods, not asking for more.

So he pretends that it is all okay, that he isn't hurting. He smiles and grins and laughs. Their eyes follow him, all looking for him to finally break. She watches him as if she knows that he is pretending, that he is hurting, that she wants to reach out. He watches him like one thinks of the last Christmas before your parents couldn't make it through the night without screaming.

But they don't ask. They don't reach out. They drift farther away from him, together.

And he knows, one day, he doesn't have to pretend anymore. One day he will laugh and grin and smile, and it wouldn't be pretend. One day it will be true. But till then, he pretends as if it's the only thing he knows.

**Author's Note:**

> Did I just write angst? I think so. Did I hurt myself by writing this? Yes. 
> 
> I hope I didn't hurt you too much and that you could enjoy the writing itself. Please leave a comment if you have any tips, tricks, or just something to say. I will respond the moment I come out of the corner I'm softly crying in.
> 
> [added later]  
> if you want to read this, but than with happy ending, I rewrote this into "Done pretending", so you can read that if you want.


End file.
